In line at Wegman's today, she started talking to the boy behind us. "Hey Boy, what's your name?" She told him when her birthday was, that she was going to be 3, we were buying medicine because she was sniffly, and her papa's name. "His name is Charles. It's spelled P-A-P-A."

It could only be so long after getting the TV set up before we exposed the toddler to that classic of great musical film--The Sound of Music. I vividly remember lying underneath the record player in the living room when I was about six years old, singing along with Julie Andrews at the top of my lungs. (The only other record I recall my parents owning is the soundtrack to "Goldfinger.") My sisters and I used to perform the songs for my parents in the kitchen, along with moving renditions of "Copacabana."

The obsession with cheesy musicals must be genetic, because the kid is clearly hooked. "Sing the picnic song!" she demanded in the car today, and then started in. "Do, a dee-ya, a female dee-ya--what's a dee-ya? Re, a drop of golden sun! Mi, one name I call myself! Fa, long long long way to run! Sol, a needle pulling thread, HA! Zuh (the) note to follow so...what does 'follow so' mean? Ti, a drink of jammon bread! What's next? What's next, Mama? SING IT! TOGETHER!" and so on. Her favorite song to watch was the goatherder puppet show for a while, but then she got scared of the part where the little girl blows fake beer foam in Julie Andrews's face, and now the entire scene is taboo.

Toddlerita Mindworks: (Toddlerita) "No no, don't kiss me!" (Mama) "Why not?" (T) "There is no love in it! There is no love in kisses--only in cuddling and hugs. Cuddle me!"

So, we hold off this long on setting up the TV (and yes, winter was FIVE MONTHS LONG). And what do we do today? Go to the library and check out eight movies. Most of them are "educational" though--including one about the skeleton, for the bone-obsessed in the family (that's the skeleton in our closet--OH!). We then actually ate dinner in front of "Toy Story." So our slide down the slippery slope of spoonfed entertainment is complete, in only 24 hours! Soon I'll be spending all my days in front of the tube with the shades drawn, sipping milkshakes while the toddler eats Cheez-puffs and our metabolisms slow to three-toed sloth speed. (I was once attacked by a three-toed sloth named Roscoe--maybe he was two-toed, I can't remember.)

OK, it's off to watch a National Geographic Coyote special! Ooh, the suspense!

The only problem with organic produce is that, very occasionally, you will look down at the yummy orange pepper you are eating and see a teeny, tiny slug crawling on it.

The blog site ate my last post (apparently, when it asks if you want to save, the saved item is hidden in some secret place, like that long hallway in the new Matrix movie where the door of light is), and so I have been fearing posting again. Yes, both Charles and Scott advised me to copy to a textfile. In a fit of technological hubris, I didn't. It was a funny post, but all my funny is lost right now, as the Toddlerita has entered a nap-free existence. She crawls around on my bed exclaiming "I am letting you rest, Mama! I am the good kid in the world!" (she doesn't quite understand "best" yet) while I try to sleep in the afternoons. Or she shoves her pointy little elbows into my chest and says "Keep me warm!" Since the wee person inside me is also at this time developing pointy little elbows while simultaneously causing me to gain approximately 9,000 pounds per month, my general mood at this time can be charitably described as grumpy.

The other kid news is that there is a great deal of potty talk going on. I don't mean she is developing the mouth of Lenny Bruce; she is just learning all about the wonderful world of elimination. And that is probably all I should say so as not to risk embarrassing her when she is 16. She is also teaching herself to read, which means I soon will not be able to ask her dad to go to W-E-G-M-A-N-S for I-C-E C-R-E-A-M. Speaking of which, I hear the call of the freezer now.